


Assorted Ficlets

by freezerjerky



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Anal Fingering, Angst, Blind John, Fluff, M/M, Omega John, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezerjerky/pseuds/freezerjerky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some things that I've posted over on my tumblr, put here for better organization. Currently: omega verse fluff, pwp featuring fingering, and blind John angst</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Omega Verse: Kisses in the night

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone has any requests, feel free to let message me here or on tumblr, the username's now watdaughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my lovely Momo. (momotastic27 on tumblr, just momotastic here I suggest you read her stuff.)

There are many things about his heat that John hates, the loss of control, the aching muscles both during and after, the fact that it’s literally days that he can’t get any work done. The parts he loves, well, those are more obvious, for the most part.

This particular heat ends at three in the morning, and he’s so tired he doesn’t even know if he can stay awake for another moment. Sherlock, though, who regains presence of mind the moment the frenzy wears off, lifts John off the bed to change the soiled sheets. It is very hard for John to resist the temptation to curl up on the floor and fall asleep there. Before he can properly close his eyes, though, Sherlock is lifting him back onto the bed and checking for cuts and bruises.

“I don’t have any,” John mumbles, curling in on himself. He knows this procedure very well.

“I need to check thoroughly.”

“I’m a bloody doctor, I know how to handle this. Please just lie down.”

Sherlock opens his mouth to protest, but instead lies down. Outside of John’s heats, he can still be a prick, but ultimately John’s the one in control. He doesn’t like to be pushed around like some stereotypical omega househusband and that’s part of the reason why Sherlock admires him so much. Instinctively, he pulls John closer, placing a small kiss on each corner of his mouth. John closes his eyes and hums before pressing his lips against Sherlock’s, which Sherlock has to respond to by reciprocating. They continue for only a few minutes before John’s sleeping, too tired to even snog properly. This, absolutely this, is his favourite part of his heats.


	2. PWP: Fingering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the lovely Belly (sallydonovann over on Tumblr.)

He loves Sherlock always, every moment of the day, every movement, every second. But this view of him has to be one of his very favourite, lying flat on his back with his feet planted against the bed and his right cheek pressing into the pillow. He wants to kiss every inch of skin that’s flushed pink and kiss away every soft moan emitting from his lover’s lips.

“Fuck, I want to fuck you into the mattress until you scream after this,” he says, pressing a third finger into Sherlock’s already stretched hole.

“Please, John.”

“Begging already?”

He slides out his fingers, pleased with the whimper that earns him, and presses a kiss to Sherlock’s knee before nipping the skin. He slides his head lower, sucking a bruise onto his thigh. Then he sinks his fingers back in one by one.

“Always so wanton and needy, like you’re just begging for some fingers or a big cock.”

“That is obvious-“

John cuts off the response by adding a fourth finger, thrusting even harder than before.

“What was that?” he asks with a grin, pressing two fingers against Sherlock’s prostate.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He continues to thrust, tempted to take Sherlock’s cock in hand or mouth. It looks so tempting, lying against his stomach, leaking precome. Sherlock’s too busy digging his hands into the sheets, clawing desperately at them as John sucks another bruise into his thigh, to touch himself. He knows John has complete control of this.

“Look at you, rocking onto my fingers, fucking yourself so desperately. I don’t think there’s any better sight in the world. If I could, I’d keep you in bed for the rest of our lives, and we’d never stop this, I’d just tease and fuck you until you couldn’t take anymore. And you can take quite a lot, can’t you?”

The only reply he gets is a nod and an arch of the back. He presses against Sherlock’s prostate again and the other man can’t hold it back anymore. As he comes, he shouts out, grabbing the sheets harder than before as he spurts onto his own stomach. John does not stop thrusting until his orgasm has washed over him and he’s completely oversensitive. When he pulls out, he reaches for a tissue to clean up Sherlock’s stomach before lying down beside him.

“What about fucking me into the mattress?” Sherlock asks, peering over at him.

“It can wait, love, you’ve got me knackered from that, and besides, I want you good and hard to watch you come again.”

Sherlock grins at him before pulling him closer for a kiss.


	3. Angst: Blind!John

John can think of a few things he hates about not being able to see.

He hates that he can’t see Sherlock’s face right after he kisses him, that he can’t trace the lines of his face well enough to tell if it’s serious or in jest. He hates that he can’t hit him properly across the face because he hasn’t adjusted to the blindness yet.

He hates that he can’t see the looks on everyone’s faces the day he finally concedes and walks into Scotland Yard holding Sherlock’s hand. He imagines Anderson’s jaw nearly hitting the floor and a smirk on Lestrade’s face. Someone claps him on the shoulder and he later finds out it’s Sally Donovan, giving him the one concrete assurance that they’ve processed what’s happening, reconciled themselves to it, and moved on.

Of course, that’s the first battle, because more than that he hates the things he can’t do anymore. For the first few weeks, he can’t even go to the shops without either Sherlock or Mrs Hudson with him, and even after he adjusts it’s months until he can go far. And it’s so embarrassing to need help on the tube, to have special instructions because he’s on the train. John’s used to blending, to being part of the background.

There is no hope he can ever be a doctor again, and that he despises above almost all else. He was made to help people, to make things better, and now he’s so broken he can’t fix himself, can’t fix this mess. He can’t go running after criminals, can barely provide any input at crime scenes. Most often he stays at home, waiting anxiously for Sherlock to come home, even though sometimes it’s days. Once it was a full week and the first thing he did was trace along Sherlock’s ribs, feeling how much he’d lost.

But the first thing he did was take him to bed, because that was the only place he felt like John again. Sherlock promised to always turn out the lights, to always deliver, though John knows he lies sometimes and leaves them on just to see. He shouldn’t deprive him out of spite, should he? But he hates that he’ll never see all of his lover’s body, or the look on his face when he comes.

The first time he realized this, he started to cry, soft tears. He wants to stop, he wants to continue feeling this body moving along with his, but the tears keep coming and Sherlock stills and all he hears is a murmured “I’m sorry, so sorry,” starting like a chant. Because Sherlock remembers the small chemical explosion and John so worried about ruining the kitchen, ruining everything. And he remembers that John yelled, but he can’t remember the last time he looked into John’s eyes and saw him looking back. He hates that. He hates himself.


End file.
